


Midnight Knocking

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 18:24:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11340882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived atThe Basement, which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onThe Basement's collection profile.





	Midnight Knocking

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Midnight Knocking by rac

22 September 1998  
Midnight Knocking  
by rac / September 1998  
Category: Slash: Skinner/Mulder  
Spoilers: Zero Sum.  
Rating: NC-17 m/m for serious same-sex sexual situations. If that's not your cup of tea, best leave now. It won't be held against you.  
Disclaimer: The X-Files and characters belong to Chris Carter & Ten Thirteen Productions. No infringement of copyright in intended - this work is not produced to generate income. The only reason for its existence is to get these guys out of my head and to stop 'em from bugging me. Well--maybe not the *only* reason ;-)  
Archiving: Please write the author first.  
Author's Notes: The idea for this scene bloomed after reading the quote below. I'm new on the XF scene; if anyone else has already written this idea and I'm just a pale similarity, I apologize. I live for feedback -- please write me with constructive criticism or blatant brown-nosing at -- it's the fuel to keep me going :-) For reading it on the web, find it at: http://enook.net/hl/rac/rac.htm  
Summary: An alternate view of Mulder's dead-of-the-night visit to Skinner's apartment.

* * *

Midnight Knocking

Clear conscience never fears midnight knocking.  
          Chinese Proverb

He knew the drill, standard operating procedure. Simple. Cover your tracks in every way. Get rid of any incriminating evidence. 

The condo door closed quietly, and Skinner dropped the duffel. Soundlessly, he started stripping off clothes: parka, gloves, hat. Pants and sweater. The routine chores weren't enough to keep his mind from straying, however. Vivid scenes from earlier in the night kept replaying over and over, holding all his senses hostage.

//Footfalls first, then a key in the lock. His heart pounding, he hefted the body over his shoulder and retreated to a darkened alcove. Lights came on, and all he knew was the weight of the corpse, the smell of dead flesh, like the weight and smell of his perfidy. Heavy. Stinking. Rotten.//

He stuffed the dark pants and sweater into a garbage bag readied for just such service. Just like he'd gotten rid of other incriminating evidence earlier. Piece by piece by piece. Painstakingly backtracking over the whole crime scene. Down on his hands and knees like a grunt, scrubbing the ladies' room floor.

//The elevator descended slowly as sweat beaded and ran in rivulets down the side of his face, down his back under the sweater. The building was hot, and as he descended, it only got hotter. The lighting was dim with a distinct reddish glow. When he opened up the furnace door, the flames leapt high in the air, singeing his skin.//

Walter Dante Skinner, welcome to Hell.

He went through the rote actions, with thought thankfully not needed. Belongings were put away neatly, disposable items stuffed with the clothes in the trash bag. He went upstairs to dress, heading first for the bathroom. Water. Lots of water. The sink wasn't enough, and he peeled off his briefs and cranked up the shower to full blast, letting the cold water pound down on him, washing away the stench of burning flesh that clung in his nose. As the chill pervaded his body, Skinner wondered vaguely if the odor was similar to the more personal smell of a bought soul.

Out again, and into clean clothes. Downstairs, to get rid of the last of his tracks. The phone was placed back on the hook, and his glasses back on his face. Tired, he wanted nothing more than to have this night be over. Wasting little motion, Skinner pivoted and grabbed up the tied-off trash bag, reached for the door handle and swung it open.

Fox Mulder stood in the doorway. "Oh, you _are_ home."

Skinner's heart caught and twisted in his chest. "Yeah, what're you doing here?"

"I just tried to reach you, I think your phone's off the hook."

He followed Mulder's glance toward his phone, pushed down the adrenaline rush. "Oh, I needed some sleep." His words were a murmur, an excuse to stall while his mind engaged.

Mulder's eyes dropped, his brows rose. "That why you're taking the garbage out at four in the morning?"

Skinner steeled himself, his voice. "What do you want, Agent Mulder?"

»

Dead. Thomas was dead. Scully was in the hospital. He closed his eyes for a moment against the brief uncomfortable spurt of helplessness and fear and rage. A warm body embraced him from behind, arms reaching around to hold him close. Desire and affection vied with his darker emotions, but guilt was the clear winner, coming up on the inside track to cross the line well ahead of the others.

"We can go over this in the morning. You had insomnia again," Mulder mumbled against his back. A gentle hand came up and rubbed through the thin sweater he wore. The warm and caring gesture seeped into his skin, feeding a need and fueling more guilt.

"Yeah." If he didn't earlier, he would now.

"You should have called. You've been there when I've needed you. It'd be nice if I could return the favor."

"I-" the words stuck like carrion in his throat. "One of us awake all night was enough."

"Nice thought, but I've been up anyway." Tentative fingers stroked his face. "I'd rather have been up with you."

Emotion lanced through Skinner, a grimace contorting his face. He swallowed. When the first brush of lips feathered over his nape, he couldn't hold back the shudder.

Breath skittered across his skin. "I'm here now. We're both awake."

"Mulder.. Fox-"

"Walter, shut up. My turn now." Mulder tugged on his arm, pulling him further into the living room and onto the couch.

Skinner went docilely, like a puppet. A distant part of his mind registered that it was an apt analogy. Puppet on a string. Pull my controls and watch me dance.

Mulder sat him on the couch, then walked away to turn down all the lights he'd had on. Maybe he'd been trying to hold the darkness at bay. Shedding his coat over the back of a chair, Mulder came back around and knelt between Skinner's legs. The ambient light was kinder now, hiding the dark circles and stress lines on both their faces. Mulder's eyes, though tired, were alert and focused fully on Skinner.

Skinner shut himself away from Mulder's bright eyes, shoved his own raging emotions behind a stout and sturdy locked door, unable to deal such openness tonight. //This is a mistake//, he thought, //a big mistake. We shouldn't do this.// Yet he sat unmoving, unwilling to call things to a halt. It only added further to his self-loathing.

Mulder left him to his thoughts in silence, Mulder's hands speaking instead. The deception sat in Skinner's gut, a writhing, snaking morass of guilt and shame. Despite it, Mulder's hands on his body called forth a defenseless response, and he felt his blood surge more quickly through his veins, beginning to gather and pool between his legs. He allowed his sweater to be stripped off, his head falling back on the cushion as his skin was stroked and aroused. Knowledgeable fingers toyed with his nipples and twisted, finding a direct connection to his sex as lightening flared and heated him further.

Mulder stayed silent, only the sounds of their breathing and the whisper of Mulder's shirt moving against Skinner's jeans disturbing the quiet. There was the sound of a buckle coming undone, a zipper being lowered. Skinner closed his eyes even more tightly, suddenly desperately wanting nothing more than to have this moment with Mulder, to feel the connection between them, to reaffirm it in the most basic of ways. Wordlessly, he raised his hips at Mulder's urging and allowed his jeans to be pulled down, allowed his boots to be removed, his jeans shucked completely. His briefs followed with one smooth motion. 

At Mulder's throaty murmur of desire, Skinner nearly groaned aloud. Mulder moved away, and Skinner listened to him shed his own clothes. There was a comfort in being sightless, existing in a world of tactile pleasures and sounds of passion. It was a reality _he_ controlled, one they made together, where unpleasant realities could be left behind. His growing arousal had nearly tamed the wild snakes' tortuous path in his gut, replacing it with the spiraling heat of lust and need. 

When he felt the soft brush of Mulder's silky hair against his leg, the scrape of a rough jaw, it was a key in the lock on his sturdy door. When Mulder's warm mouth grazed down his length, the tumblers started to release. When he felt himself engulfed deeply in warmth and wetness, the lock clicked free and the door to his feelings tumbled open. He couldn't hold back the cry that bubbled up as Mulder hummed a bit, the vibrations combining with the clever tongue moving restlessly along his swollen skin in a mindless sensory slam. Blood surged even more as he rocked into the accepting heat. He felt his eyes tear up and spill over, trailing tracks down the side of his face, and flung up an arm to cover the evidence of his weakness. The springboard sensation of gathering, overwhelming power built as his orgasm quickly approached. Appalled, he pulled away from Mulder with a jerky motion.

"No, no," he gasped, breathless from doing nothing more than lying on the couch. "No."

"What, then? Want me over the back of the couch?" Mulder nuzzled his bellybutton, nosed along the whorls of hair arrowing downward from its small indentation.

"No! No," he repeated a second time with less disgust. No, he couldn't take Mulder like that right now. He'd already screwed Mulder over once tonight; he couldn't live with himself if he did it again this way. If, _when_, he found out, Mulder would never forgive him for this night. He couldn't make the memories worse.

"I want to feel you in me," he ordered gruffly. He could feel Mulder looking up at him in surprise.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Please," he added whispered. //Oh God, please. It's the only way I can tonight.//

Mulder nosed along his abdomen some more, then moved away, cool air rushing in to replace his warm body against Skinner's legs and stomach. "Okay, hold on." Feet padded up the stairs and returned a moment later. "Lie down." So soft, so gentle. Skinner never knew gentleness could have such sharp edges and cut so deep. 

Mulder showed him how he was to lie back on the couch. A few of the cushions were discarded onto the floor to make room. Throughout it all, Skinner never opened his eyes, but moved by touch alone. He felt the heat of Mulder's body, the flex and shift of muscles in his arms and back as he kneeled over Skinner. The wet sound of lube slurped faintly as Mulder warmed it between his hands. Skinner felt it with a sigh as Mulder's fingers played down his erection, sliding down to the cleft in his cheeks, spreading the lube in small concentric circles over and over around his ass. Another wordless sound slipped from his mouth as long, careful fingers probed in, moving slowly but deeper with each motion. Mulder's care and caution was another stab to his gut.

With an abrupt motion, he tucked his legs around Mulder's back, pulling him in with a smooth motion and touched Mulder's rampant sex for the first time. Hot and swollen, fluid leaked from the head already. Insistently, he pulled Mulder closer until the head of his cock lay snugged against his ass. "Now."

"You're not-"

"Now." Skinner matched tone with action and began to impale himself on Mulder. Giving in, Mulder leaned over slightly and pushed. They both gasped as he slid in after breaching a small resistance.

Skinner reveled in the burn and pain of Mulder's too-quick entry. He wanted to feel pain, he wanted it to hurt. To cost him something.

But then he already knew that tonight would cost him. Had already cost him. Dearly. 

Mulder lay deeply inside but did not move, trying to allow Skinner's body time to adjust. That wasn't what Skinner wanted, and he purposefully tightened down around Mulder's length and moved. 

"Jesus, Walter, wait-"

"No waiting. Now." When Skinner flexed and moved again, Mulder gasped and automatically moved, hips flexing, undulating out and in a sinuous motion. Skinner grunted and gasped, "Yeah. Like that. Harder, Fox."

Mulder obliged, helpless to do anything else as the passion carried him along. Soon he seemed oblivious to much of anything except the sounds and smells and feelings of their lovemaking as he rocked blissfully against Skinner. 

"That's it, Fox... yeah..."

When Mulder awkwardly captured Skinner's hand and drew it to his own erection, Skinner arched into the fingers encircling him. Together they stroked along his length, Mulder's hand dropping away as Skinner willingly took up the rhythm.

It was bliss. The fire of desire burned away all other things for this small moment in time, all the pain and guilt and shame of the past day caught up in a firestorm burning through his body. He felt Mulder slamming against him, heard the sounds of skin against skin, and could only groan. Mulder gripped his hips, holding tightly while he angled upward. 

The resulting sensation caused Skinner to clench and moan. "_Ahhhhh_... Fox, yeah..." One more thick slide and unexpectedly, he convulsed silently, then stiffened, coming hard, warmth shooting strong over his hand and stomach.

"Ohgod, Walter," Mulder shuddered and kept moving, "You- I- oh_fuck_." Mulder slammed in twice more then groaned aloud as he too came hard, pulsing deep as he emptied himself in Skinner.

They didn't move for long seconds, an awkward, insensate tangle of arms and legs on the couch. Then the tangle seemed to slide apart as Mulder eased down, Skinner's legs falling away to either side. Mulder buried his face in the mat of hair covering Skinner's chest as they both fought for even breath.

"For two guys who've had no sleep, that was pretty good," Mulder mumbled into Skinner's chest. Heaving a sigh, Mulder pushed himself up farther until they were face to face. "You okay?" Mobile lips came down over Skinner's mouth, coaxing it open with little kisses.

_Am_ I okay? Skinner wondered. Mulder's little after-sex rootings and kisses abruptly brought volatile emotions to the surface again. He snapped his eyes shut again, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, I'm good."

Mulder chuckled. "You're better than good, Walter. You really surprised me just now. I just hope you can walk tomorrow." He nuzzled his nose down in the warm crease of Skinner's neck.

Skinner thought of the next day, of all the shit that would begin to hit the fan. Of Mulder, hot on the trail of it all. Whether he walked or not didn't matter one fuck. "I'm fine," he repeated quietly. "Just tired."

"No wonder. Me, too." Mulder pulled back and looked down at Skinner lying so still beneath him. "C'mon, big guy. Up you go. I'm putting you to bed." He tugged on Skinner's arm and ignored Skinner's irritated look. "How many times have you made sure I've gotten some sleep after some shitty day? Just shut up and follow _my_ orders for a change."

If he didn't feel so dark inside, he'd laugh at the sight of a naked Mulder helping him up the stairs, equally naked, and into his room. While Skinner used the bathroom, Mulder tugged down the bedcovers and closed the curtains against the dawning light outside. 

A new day. 'And the day of my death dawned fair and mild', he remembered reading somewhere.

"Slide in," Mulder encouraged him and tucked up the covers. Skinner didn't have the heart to discourage him. Instead, he cherished every misbegotten impulse that fueled Mulder's actions. Sometime in the next day or so, that fuel might run dry, never to be replenished. "I need to go home and take a shower, get dressed. I promised the Desmond police I'd be over there this morning, to go over the evidence."

Skinner closed his eyes. "Go. I'll be fine once I get some sleep."

Mulder hesitated. "You sure?" 

Fingers brushed over his jaw and along his temple. That damn surge of emotion threatened to swamp him again. "Yeah," he answered, his voice thick and gruff. "You go do what you need to do, Fox." He forced a slight smile. "It's Saturday, I'll sleep as long as I need to."

That seemed to satisfy Mulder. "Okay." He leaned down and kissed Skinner once, brushing his nose over Skinner's. He spoke as he hopped up. "I'll call you later, let you know what's happening."

Oh yeah, he was sure he'd find out what was happening. 

Mulder gave him one last look and disappeared out the door. Muffled footfalls pounded down the stairs, and a few minutes later, the front door opened and closed.

So. That was that. Nearly two years of his life just walked out the door and hung in the balance now, not to mention the twenty-odd years he had invested in the Bureau. All because he sold his soul to the devil. Thought he was tough enough to hack it, thought he didn't have to take his own advice.

Quietly, he got up, went back downstairs and redressed. A telephone number was written down in his personal phone book, and he called it. He let it ring once, twice, then he hung up. Retrieving the garbage bag from where he'd stuck it, out of harm's way in the kitchen, he slipped out the door and went down to meet the devil.

=the end=

feedback gratefully received :-)

\--  
rac <>  
http://home.interpath.net/crickard/main.htm  
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End file.
